


Hercule

by doubledecks



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Creampie, Double Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sharing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13882014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubledecks/pseuds/doubledecks
Summary: Tintin and Haddock have grown rather fond of Professor Tarragon in the years following the recovery of the Sanders-Hardiman explorers. PWP.





	Hercule

**Author's Note:**

> Professor Hercules Tarragon can be found in The Seven Crystal Balls and Prisoners of the Sun.

Hercules Tarragon was a very jolly man. His laughter thundered like an angry shout, and Tintin could not deny that the archaeologist reminded him in many ways of the Captain. But it was his levity that betrayed him. Hercule was a man who did not think too deeply about things, whereas Haddock considered them so deeply that he often wound up lost in torment.

It was that torment to which Tintin had been drawn - hopelessly, inexplicably - and yet despite the substantial gulf of personality that lay between the two men, they got on so famously that the Captain did not mind at all one evening when Hercule's hand found its way onto Tintin's knee.

He did glance up to see if Tintin minded. He found the boy looking downright arrogant. It was clear Tintin already had one foot in the saddle, that he was scrutinizing the Captain in turn for any clues as to what he might be thinking. Tintin knew Haddock thought the world of him, but it was ever his habit to uncover the hidden motivations of others.

Tintin had known Hercule's intentions from the moment they had met: the man simply didn't have any. Hercules Tarragon was a man who fluttered from whim to whim as a rule, tasting whatsoever was offered him without argument. The Captain was more complex with his petty little jealousies and moods, though all that seemed to have dissipated now, replaced by a bashful look of curiosity.

"Ah, we're deliberating, I see," Tarragon said good-naturedly without a hint of scorn, giving Tintin a pat on the leg. "I'm going to go and go see about the coffee. No rush, fine fellows."

That was how things were at Professor Tarragon's house. Light. Easy.

His touch was light and easy as well. For as monstrous a man he was - nearly twice the Captain's size - he handled Tintin under Haddock's watchful eye with all the attentiveness of a doctor but none of the sterility. His fingers and mouth did the most obscene things, and he had a vocabulary on him that almost rivaled Haddock's at his most livid, but there was a passivity to his lovemaking that left great swaths of Tintin's body open for the Captain to take his pleasure - which he did, quite brutally.

It almost felt as if Tarragon was an extension of the Captain, conscripted to help bring him to the edge of bliss.

The air in Hercule's bedchamber was heavy and sweet. Tintin feared that once this train had truly left the station - once the clouds of fantasy had dispersed and reality rolled up its sleeves to do its mysterious bidding - a serious row would erupt. But it never did. It was only he who was in danger of erupting, and there seemed to be little argument between his consorts on how this objective should be carried out.

If anything they appeared to be in the most delightful accord. Their sporadic and rather hot-blooded outbursts of fondness for each other were anything but unwelcome to Tintin's covetous gaze.

At times he felt a feast laid out between friends on a private outing. Sumptuous and hot on the table, bountiful enough to keep everyone satisfied.

Soon enough he would be maneuvered into a position for all to have their full indulgence.

Hercule and Haddock were not shy about sitting close together in the parlor, or standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they perused Tarragon's superb collection of atlases. They were certainly not shy about what they were prepared to do.

It had taken patient groundwork to get to such a point - many nights of teasing and a little bit of pain, which Tintin had tempered with calm instruction and his marvelous wit. And it finally seemed they were going to achieve this undertaking, the Captain spread complacently on his back and watching Tintin's face turn beet red as Tarragon slowly mounted him from behind.

Their heavy breathing dwindled into cautious silence. Such a feat of resilience took a great deal of concentration on Tintin's part, and it wasn't wise to interrupt his focus.

He shifted atop Haddock. He wedged himself slightly in one direction, then another. And then he fell back with a sigh, consuming both men in one spry thrust.

It undid the Captain to see his boy so spoilt. To see Tintin exhausted and panting as if he had just been chased across the entire coast, to hear him whine plaintively in surrender.

He felt confident to see Hercule's sturdy hands holding the lad down by the waist, keeping him from biting off more than he could chew, even as Tintin immediately began to snivel and complain - finding his requests falling on deaf ears from both directions, he turned to Haddock with a scowl of betrayal, and it was only then that the Captain began to move.

Tarragon was content to remain in place. He was of substantial size, well aware he could cause grievous injury if he bucked out of turn. But soon enough he was comfortably swept into the fold, and it wasn't long before Tintin was losing himself to their collective, frenzied aggression.

Tintin adored this exercise in fortitude, this prying ache that hauled him closer and closer to release like a rope crossed over an old sheave. It excited his companions as well, for he was drawing tight around them, threatening to drain them by force.

It was with Tarragon caressing his hind and the Captain's thumb gently running along the face of his closed teeth that he came.

He dressed Haddock's beard with fine milky ribbons and laughed delightedly, a coarse groan following as he felt the seed begin to well up in him.  
  
It surged with astounding force, knocking the wind from his lungs. It was still coming. Tintin realized with shock that both men were emptying into him at once.

His spent cock seeped another tired strand of bliss, as if it was being leveled from him. There was simply no room. Their passion was like a rising monsoon inside of him: unstoppable, uncontainable. It felt the profusion of it might even surmount him, that he might be filled beyond his means-

And then, reprieve. A velvety pocket of semen billowed from between his legs, and then another - Tintin felt a bizarre inclination to hide his face in his hands and apologize, but he ignored it; the Captain's expression was much too precious to miss. This had been precisely what they had both wanted.  
  
When all was said and done Tintin was installed on a chaise in the parlor with a cup of tea and a good book.

Exhausted, he would only make cursory additions to the conversation. And though both Haddock and Hercule would cast occasional, appreciative glances at his handsome features and the supple crest of his collarbone against the light of the fire, it was Haddock's bathrobe that he wore.

The Captain couldn't stand the sight of Tintin wearing another man's robe.


End file.
